


Harbor

by Embleer_Frith0323



Series: Havens [2]
Category: DCU (Comics), Grayson (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Male Slash, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Slightly Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 20:25:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18506437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embleer_Frith0323/pseuds/Embleer_Frith0323
Summary: Part 2 of Havens.





	Harbor

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all...
> 
> I dunno, I was just in the mood to add to Sanctuary. XD Wanted to work with these two a little more. This one's a little more lighthearted and while something like a plot is building and I have a skeleton of a story in mind, whether it will be added to or not remains to be seen... eek! 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Xoxoxoxoxoxo~~
> 
> EF <3

Blood streaked in a wet line down the front of Tiger’s trousers and into his boots. There was nothing to be done for it, however, his knee was skinned to the cap, creating a pronounced, pain-induced limp in his gait, and his pursuer was hot on his heels. In some dim way, Tiger knew the palms of his hands and the flesh of his hip fared little better. Flares of hot, insistent pain bloomed in them, pressing with urgency at the back of his mind. 

Tiger’s thoughts, however, were entirely here-centered, tunneled into one thing — escape. 

This was the first Talon that Tiger had heard of to have meta abilities, this emissary of the Court of Owls boasting some especially nasty, powerful shockwaves, ones so colossal they churned up breakers of asphalt, dirt, and concrete in choking clouds. The first that struck Tiger slammed him into the brick wall of a building a block away, kicking the sight from his eyes and comprehension from his brain for several moments. When he came to, this superhuman Talon was advancing on him — fast — with one hand primed to throw more pain his way. 

Ancient words from training flickered through his mind, the motto of all non-meta combatants — _When outclassed, cheat._

Tiger did, hurling down a fistful of stun grenades and sprinting away, opting out of the fight until he was better equipped to go toe-to-toe with this particular enemy. He had already spent every round in each of his weapons, not one bullet seeming to create even a flicker of response in his adversary. The blade of his Bowie knife dulled after three strikes against the forearm of Talon’s armor. Tiger didn’t prefer to rabbit under any circumstances, but he also knew that to be brave and principled was to be stupid and die, and anyway, he’d gotten what he’d come for. 

A wave lifted the earth beneath his heels, sending him arching up into the air, legs pumping beneath him. He hit the button on his wristband — twice for Nightwing. This command was an addition from just after 37’s departure from Spyral — one that Grayson insisted on in case Tiger ever found himself in Dick’s neck of the woods. 

“If you end up in the Blüd and you’re in a bind,” Dick said over the phone, his voice hardly audible over some indeterminate background commotion, “press that button on your band two times. That’ll alert the Nightwing comm and I’ll be there in a jiff.” 

“How did you manage this, exactly?” Tiger asked, checking his band and discovering that the new command did, indeed, light up. 

“I… mighta just hacked it,” Grayson said with a chuckle. “New little trick I learned from my kid brother.” 

“Ah, yes, the Almighty Red Robin,” Tiger said. “I swear, to work with you is to invite omnipotent snoops into my life.” 

“It’s what you get, messin’ with the Batfam,” Grayson said cheerfully. “Listen, though, Tig, I gotta go — I might or might not be crouched in a corner, taking a breather from getting shot at by a bunch of disgruntled kingpins.” 

“Hmph. Naturally. Well, as your countrymen like to say, watch that ass of yours,” Tiger said. 

“It’s actually ‘better watch your ass,’ but close enough,” Dick laughed. “Take it easy, Tony — don’t be a stranger.” 

“Please don’t call me —” Tiger paused as the line went dead, and sighed. “That.” 

Given that Tiger’s investigation had now brought him to Blüdhaven, he supposed it was as good a time as any to give the Nightwing command a whirl. As another shockwave thrust Tiger head over heels, forcing him into a somersault to break a would-be bone-shattering fall, he just hoped that the two press alert worked, because in order to shake Talon, he’d have to do something certifiable to ensure his escape. 

He was, by now, at the outskirts of the city, rushing toward Skirl Rocks. If he kept moving, and maintained enough distance between him and Talon, he may be able to vanish into the water below if Nightwing didn’t show. Some moments of sprinting had elapsed since depressing the button, and there was no telling if Grayson would even be able to make an appearance. For all Tiger knew, he’d bumped off to some planet in the backwater quadrant of the universe or the old Bat of Gotham had called him into duty. 

Running away from Talon while awaiting Nightwing’s arrival wasn’t an option. He needed to cut the cards if he wanted to get out of this skirmish with all of his teeth and limbs accounted for. He made a break for the precipice ahead, leaping from its ledge with abandon. Talon would follow, but if he hit the water quickly enough to effectively vanish, he may yet be able to buy his way out of Blüdhaven with his well-gotten gain _and_ his life. 

The wind struck his face, accompanied with the sense of zero gravity and rush of speed customary in a free-fall. He pedaled his feet, angling his descent to avoid the rocks at the base of the cliff, then stiffened his body into one long line to strike the water. 

He didn’t strike the water, however, in the end — instead, something struck _him._ A dark shape, scarcely visible to the naked eye, slammed into him from his left. The yank of a swift change of direction jarred his neck, and then he was all at once planted on his feet beneath an outcropping of rock. 

“Get down,” the form whispered, pushing him toward the mud that pressed up against the underside of the overhang. “Thermoptic sensors are built into the Talon mask. You don’t make like a pig and roll in the muck in the next ten seconds, you’re a holiday ham, pal.” 

“Now at least I know the alert worked,” Tiger murmured as he obligingly fell to his front in the thick, sucking mud at the water’s edge, “because only idiot Grayson would say something so stupid.” 

“What can I say, I was born cringey,” Nightwing said, a darker shadow in the stealth gear he wore. “Now stop, drop, and roll before our friend there comes moseying along.” 

Tiger did, soaking himself in the muck, then shifting along the cliffside to huddle down in the comparative safety of an evergreen thicket that jutted like dark, spiny fingers at acute angles from the escarpment. 

“It’s not like you to sit with your thumb in your back door,” Tiger whispered, shifting his weight from his painful knee. “You really aren’t engaging with Talon?” 

Dick shook his head. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t call it engaging with Talon, considering that that thing there…” He indicated the horned shape that wandered along the far bank of the water, “is not Talon, Tig.” 

Tiger frowned. “Isn’t it?” 

“Nope. Not saying our little beastly pal across the water isn’t tied to the Owls, but TL;DR — we’d better just get moving.” 

He took Tiger’s arm, and placing him ahead, guided him in a circuitous route up the slope, keeping to the darkness. Nightwing, in his stealth gear, imposed himself between Tiger and Not-Talon’s line of sight, until they reached the peak of the ledge. 

“Stay low,” Nightwing whispered. 

Tiger nodded, gritting his teeth against the blaze of discomfort in his shorn knee, and moved toward the dim, yellow lights of the Redline station ahead. 

“Is getting to the outpost building, then making a break for it a part of your immediate and somewhat obvious plan?” he murmured over his shoulder. 

Dick gave him confirmation by way of the “okay” gesture, and once they’d crept to the far end of the squat, brick building, closed at this hour, they both broke into a rapid run toward the hedgerows of structures that framed Blüdhaven’s lower edge. 

Grayson banked into the shadows of an abandoned alley some blocks into the rising edifices of the city, and slowed to a halt. Tiger followed suit, his knee by now lit afire in a rush of agony that radiated throughout the whole of his body. Without the specialized training he’d received, it would have been downright nauseating. Grayson turned toward him as he pulled the stealth cap from his head. Shaking out his hair, grown longer since Tiger last saw him, he gestured. 

“Hold still real quick,” he said. He leaned in close, something that kicked Tiger’s heart — already beating at a rapid allegro — into a faster tempo. Grayson’s eyes flicked up and down his form. “Tony, old chum, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re in a world of hurt.” He angled Tiger’s face with his fingertips, his touch light through his gloves. “Your nose might be broken.” 

“Doubtless that’s not the only thing broken at the moment,” Tiger responded ruefully, moving his stance to favor his good leg, muck smeared all over him. “My pride, for one.” 

“Pff — not to mention your knee, which is obviously a trainwreck,” Dick said. “Look — we’re not far from my apartment. We should probably head over there tout-suite and get you checked out. You’re gonna need some _serious_ TLC — like I might even need to call in reinforcements to keep you from keeling over mid-mango.” 

“Reinforcements in the form of?” Tiger asked, grimacing as Dick looped an arm about his waist, drawing Tiger’s across his shoulders to support his weight. 

“Alfred Pennyworth,” Grayson told him, giving him a half-smile. “The ultimate patriarch of the Batfam. Bats might pretend to be the one in charge, but the reality is that Alfred wears the pants in the family.” He paused. “Just don’t tell Batman that. He gets cranky about that sort of thing.” 

“Well, far be it from me to offend the Batman,” Tiger said, limping at Grayson’s side as they made their way toward his apartment, “so... mum’s the word?” 

Grayson chuckled. “You, my friend, are officially Westernized.” 

The lee of Dick’s apartment building blocked a natural view from most angles, giving it prime positioning to slip in and out on the sly. It was near the windowless side of the adjacent building, the neglected fire escape a perfect segue into Grayson’s back window. Dick gripped Tiger close to him, hauling him along as he grappled up the siding to make the leap to the sill, carting his weight with an ease that belied his lean stature. 

Inside, Grayson helped Tiger to the couch through the pitchy apartment. The small, plug-in light that gave off the slightest amber glow illuminated a triangle of wooden floor. Tiger lifted his injured leg to elevate it on the arm of the sofa while Dick closed the window and went about turning on the lights. 

“I’d apologize for dripping mud all over your furniture,” Tiger observed as he took in his messy surroundings, now awash in lamplight, “but honestly, Grayson? I’m not adding much to what’s already here. You _really_ ought to hire a maid.” 

Dick laughed. “And have the maid go poking through my stuff and unearth my treasure trove of secrets? She — or he — would make a killing, selling info about my night job and civilian and vigilante identities to the tabloids. Much as I’d love to sponsor a hardworking citizen’s retirement, I’d prefer I did so in a different way.” 

“Regardless,” said Tiger, “this place needs fumigated.” 

“Probably,” Grayson agreed. “I just regrettably don’t have the time at the moment.” He drew the fitted top of the stealth suit over his head, freeing his sculpted torso with a satisfied sigh. Tiger averted his eyes, a blistering spear going through his middle at the sight, then exhaled in something like relief when Dick moved to the closet at the far end of the studio to seek the first aid supplies. 

Tiger hadn’t spoken to Grayson since _things changed._ It had been some weeks, and while a part of Tiger had persistently urged him to check his devices for messages from his old partner, he welcomed the radio silence at the same time. The quiet at least enabled Tiger to mull things over from a more unaffected angle. 

The truth remained, however, that no matter how he attempted to distance himself from the events within the cave — to leave them behind, eventually forget them — Tiger couldn’t shake Grayson from his mind. He tried all manner of things to avoid thoughts of him — working with a focus intensified from his already devoted ethic, training harder and more exhaustively than ever, interacting with recruits, praying more frequently, reading every piece of literature he could get his hands on. It all did little good — Dick cropped up everywhere, every tiny, seemingly inconsequential thing somehow tying itself back to him. 

On a more logical level, Tiger wondered if perhaps his brain was merely clouded by the inrush of infatuation common in the wake of unexpected bodily intimacy. That he had not considered loving a man in such a way prior lent credence to that line of thinking, clinching the idea that the experimental nature of dipping into intimate territory with his male partner came with an encompassing _thrill._ It was new, shiny, daring, exciting — formerly somewhat verboten territory. It was only natural that playing with such fire got Tiger’s motor running — and kept it revved for weeks after the fact. 

But then — who knew. If his dream was anything to go on, his greatest fear was losing Dick Grayson to the sickle of death. Alia had not appeared in even the most passing glimpse in the scape of that nightmare. And what did _that_ mean? 

He had no way of knowing if Grayson bandied the same thoughts in their interim apart since the cave. All Tiger could tell was that their sex was hardly Dick’s first time with a man, even if he didn’t admit as much at any time during or just after. For all that 37 presented himself as an open book, Tiger had come to learn that he was anything but. Grayson had not even shared the contents of his own nightmare with Tiger. And if the reality was that Dick had done what was necessary to draw his partner away from a fatal hallucination, treating that sudden lovemaking with as much detached pragmatism as he might have a perfunctory, non-intimate act of first aid — 

Well, Tiger would feel the ultimate fool, dwelling on Dick with the same fiery, consuming hope of a horny teen like he had over the past weeks. 

It was absurd, he thought with self-deprecating amusement. The Tiger King of Kandahar, reduced to an angsting adolescent by a hallucination and a pair of pretty blue eyes. Truly, something of a joke.

He stuffed his thoughts when Grayson returned to his side, first aid tools in one hand, a bottle of water in the other, towels slung over his arm. 

“Here,” Dick said, popping the top off the bottle. “Better hydrate, Agent One. And take some of these NSAIDS, here.” 

Tiger nodded, accepting the water and ibuprofen tablets from Grayson. He then took a towel, and wiped some of the mud from his skin. 

“All right. Let’s get you looked at — can you get your shirt off for me real quick?” Dick asked. 

Tiger knew the logical reason for Grayson requesting he go shirtless, but it didn’t stop his heart from stuttering before he quelled that renewed inroad of nervous uncertainty. He pulled the material over his head, hissing at the first realization of broken ribs, the pain silencing whatever ounce of apprehension he might have experienced. He didn’t speak while Dick examined him. 

“Okay,” Grayson said after a protracted period of poking, prodding, checking pain levels, and determining overall damage. “Your kneecap’s fractured, one rib is dislocated, and you need stitches in your knee and chest. You also took a good clock to the head, going by that goose egg at your hairline, but you didn’t break your nose, at least, and considering your pupils are dilating properly and you can carry on a tolerable conversation, I’d say whatever concussion you might have had is minimal. In other words… no need to call in the cavalry, and you’re going to live to see another day.” He wormed his lip. “Damn. I’d have liked you to meet Alfred.” 

“For as delightful as meeting the patriarch of the Batfamily sounds,” Tiger said, “I’d prefer not to meet him after I’ve just been chewed up and regurgitated by Not-Talon and forced to make like a pig and roll in the mud.” 

Grayson laughed. “He’s used to it, trust me. Anyway — let’s get this show on the road. Hold still.” 

Cleaning and disinfection came first, stitches in the cut across his pectoral followed. Dick performed each task with practiced efficiency, giving away that he was no stranger to advanced first aid. The needle barely stung where Grayson inserted it. Setting the patella prior to stitching the laceration was quick, but brought with it a blinding pop and tug, the edges of the bone gruesomely shifting until they slid back into place. Tiger released a breath when it was pronounced over in a rush of apologies from his partner. He lay back, waiting for the sparklers that twinkled across his vision to fade. Dick wrapped Tiger’s knee, placed a small butterfly strip across the cut on the bridge of his nose, and declared the trial to be at an end. 

“That’s the good news,” Grayson told him, jokingly patting Tiger’s cheek. “The not-so-good news is that you need to stay off your knee for a while — like a couple weeks minimum. If I had to guess, you’ll be able to move around on it with a brace, but it also might not hurt to just take it as confirmation that you ought to lie low after the Owls sent one of their creepy and borderline indestructible undead creations after you.” 

Ah. So Not-Talon was something of golem. Tiger had heard tell of such things transpiring within the Court’s intrigues. Even as they spoke, the husk that bore the facsimile of the Talon mask was likely well on the way to melting into lifeless goo. 

“Only after I took this from them,” Tiger said, pulling the small statuette, his quarry of the evening, from the pouch on his utility belt. “Investigations have led me to this, although I can’t say what role it plays in the Owls’ greater schemes and how the algae from the cave system all factors into it just yet. Our golem friend was its guardian for the night.” 

Grayson took the little figure, a small ebony carving of a woman holding a bird on her extended hand. He frowned, studying it. 

“Hm. Might be an anchor,” he said, turning it over in his fingers as he looked it over. “Feel how it’s hot to the touch?” 

Tiger removed his protective gloves, and touched the statue. It did, indeed, feel warm — almost alive beneath his fingertips. 

“Usually means there’s mystical energy concentrated inside,” Grayson said. “Be right back. I have something to contain stuff like this, courtesy of one of Batman’s old pals — think it’s time to bring that containment box out of retirement.” 

“Think I could borrow your shower in the meantime?” Tiger asked. 

“Of course,” Dick said. “Seriously, Tig, you don’t have to ask, just make yourself at home when you’re here.” 

“You say that, and I’ll have to empty out and sterilize this place.” 

“You’ll need a different uniform for _that_ job. You bring your push-up bra and apron and high heels? Anyway — towels are in the linen closet behind the door and I’ll toss some clothes on the counter by the basin for you here in a sec. Reconvene on the couch whenever you’re done.” 

“Grayson,” he said, accepting help from his partner to the threshold of the bathroom, “thank you — for everything.” 

“Anytime, partner.” 

Tiger watched a moment as Dick went about producing a pale, wooden box from a hidden storage compartment at the far end of the capacious single room. Struck with a sudden melancholy, he closed the door. 

Under the showerhead, Tiger considered the greater meaning of the statuette — it was something that came up in every bit of research he performed, every source he spoke to, every clue that popped into his path. It had a significance, guarded by the golem as it were, and it was tied to 39’s death and the algae. His agent had been on the path to the altered Rannian aquatic plant, his private assignments bringing him right into the line of fire. But what had he discovered? All of his affects and belongings had been ransacked and taken — including his case files, ones that he’d not been able to report on to Tiger before he was killed. Tiger’s searches for those same affects had infuriatingly yielded bupkis thus far. 

Still mulling as he looked over Grayson’s toiletries, Tiger chuckled a bit. 

“You are still a rich boy, Grayson,” he murmured to himself, lathering the high-end shampoo into his filthy hair, umber mud streaking into the drain with the froth and water beneath his feet. His turban had only gone so far to protect his hair from the muck he’d rolled in, and it hadn’t prevented sweat. 

When he was clean, he shut off the tap and stepped out of the stall, finding the towels and clothes just as Grayson said. Dressing with his knee bound up and mostly out of service was an extensive labor, but he managed, and made his way out to the couch, his hair left free. Dick was seated on the edge of his bed, thumbing the screen of a tablet. 

Tiger breathed out, his head pulsating at the temples, spokes of a wheel attempting to break free of his skin in pressing rolls of pain. Even the most elite find themselves at their limits on occasion, and Tiger was nearing that figurative line. He reclined on the sofa and let his eyelids fall shut. 

He opened his eyes when he sensed a weight on the couch beside him, and met Grayson’s gaze. 

“So I sent a message about that carving,” Grayson told him, “and I’m hoping that the sorceress in question can help us tie some of this together. Listen — I’ve been looking a bit into 39’s murder, along with who’s been seeking that algae —” 

“You’ve been investigating the case I’m working this whole time? Why didn’t you keep me informed?” Tiger queried, annoyed. 

“Couldn’t get anything solid,” Grayson explained. “I needed more time and better sources, and those can take a while to hit on. I didn’t want to bombard you with a bunch of false leads until I had some info that actually panned out.” 

Tiger nodded, mollified. 

Grayson studied him, frowning. 

“…We can worry about all that later, though,” he said after a moment. “You need some rest as in yesterday. Not to mention, you’ve got a _lot_ of recuperating ahead of you. But this place is about as safe as it gets — so you’re welcome to hang here for as long as you need.” 

“I’ll very gratefully accept the invitation to stay tonight,” Tiger said, settling into a tolerably comfortable position on the couch, “but I can’t accept any beyond that. I don’t want to impose on you and anyway, come morning, I _need_ to get back to work.” 

“Actually,” Dick said, “you really don’t — not by yourself, at least. A, you’re not imposing on me, and B, when everything you’re looking into comes back to the Court of Owls? Your mission becomes mine every bit as much as yours, partner.” He gave him his waggish smile. “Time to be a nice boy and share — let me carry some of this for a while.” 

Tiger grunted through the discomfort in his ribs, and closed his eyes. “You ought to know by now I’m _always_ nice.” 

Grayson snorted. “My ass begs to differ. I didn’t walk right for a week, you know.” 

Tiger’s eyes flew open, a jolt going through him. Had he _truly_ just said that — had Dick just brought them to the subject so naturally and quickly, without even a hint of Tiger’s own hesitation and discomfiture? 

He met Grayson’s gaze — bright, twinkling, clearly playful. Something about his expression set Tiger more at ease, diffusing his prior tension. He relaxed a little, and lifted a brow. 

“Well,” he stated, “I didn’t exactly hear you complaining.” Grayson’s cheeks dimpled slightly. “In fact…” Tiger shifted, “you seemed to _like_ it.” 

Dick leaned toward him, resting his elbows on his knees. “Oh? And what made you think that?” 

Tiger felt his own lips quirking, matching Grayson’s. By now, his body seemed to move on autopilot, clamoring to be sated in its banal desires, moving past all awkwardness and incertitude. Never mind his injuries, never mind his fatigue, never mind the bewildering preceding weeks of quiet. 

“Possibly it was that you screamed loud enough to wake the dead,” he supplied. 

Dick full-on grinned. “Still couldn’t hear myself over you.” 

Tiger smiled, too, then sobered. “Tell me something, though, Grayson. Why have you… not contacted me since the cave?” 

Grayson’s own expression shed its levity for a moment. “Well. It wasn’t that I wasn’t thinking about calling you — a _lot.”_ He paused. “Umm, actually, Tig, to tell you the truth…? I might or might not have been completely incapable of getting you off my mind for longer than five seconds at a throw.” Tiger huffed a slight chuckle, and Dick did the same before he went on. “I just… I knew it might have been a lot to process, having been there myself at one point. I figured it was best if I let you come to me when you were ready to talk — assuming that you wanted to talk about it at all.” 

Tiger frowned. “Dick. I _did_ want to talk about it.” 

“Then in that case,” Grayson said, “I’m here, and I’m listening.” 

Tiger thought a moment, considering his words before giving voice to them. “I just… well, I’m not particularly _good_ at this sort of thing — not anymore, anyway. In this line of work, feelings for others do nothing for you except land you in a ripe position to wind up hurt or dead. Or both.” Tiger sighed. “I learned that the hard way, I’m afraid, and ever since, I’ve found it… more difficult to open up. Even just to _feel_ things, at times.” 

Dick nodded. “Well. I understand that one, partner. Feelings make you vulnerable, and vulnerability isn’t always a luxury people like us can afford.” 

Tiger nodded. “And I repeat. When did _you_ become so wise?” 

Grayson smiled. “Oh, nah. I’m not that wise.” 

Tiger gazed at him, then said, “You are.” 

Grayson sat up a bit, then grinned. “Damn. Compliments, Tony? Remind me to reset your patella more often.” His face shifted into a look more devilish. “Speaking of none of that. Let me just back up real quick — you’re saying you had… _feelings?”_

Tiger groaned, rolling his eyes. “Oh, read into it what you will, you idiot. But I will say this, since I’m already committed — yes, I _felt_ something. However ill-advised and counterintuitive and ludicrous.” 

Grayson’s eyes sparkled in the lamplight. “But you _felt_ something.” 

“Do I really have to say it a third time?” 

Grayson’s face went positively impish. “Yes.” 

“Fine. I _felt_ something. And I was angry that you didn’t call. There. Happy?” 

Dick’s smile morphed into a grin. “Very. And you were angry, huh?” 

“Yes. _Very_ angry.” 

Grayson’s brows lifted, and he leaned closer to Tiger. “You know, I’d ask what you were gonna do about that if you weren’t fresh out of the trash compactor.” 

Tiger was silent for a spell, a moment’s hesitation stalling him, but he knew that he was so deeply embedded in this now that it would hurt worse to retract than to go deeper. When it came to Grayson, Tiger realized, letting go and diving in felt _good —_ and came naturally. The time to deliberate and approach the situation rationally could come later, if such a time came at all — and at this moment, Tiger didn’t especially care whether it did or not. 

“Come here and I’ll show you,” he said. 

Grayson’s grin widened as he acquiesced, shifting until Tiger caught him at the back of his neck with one hand, his fingers curling in the silken weight of his hair. A breath expelled from Tiger’s nostrils when he closed his lips over Grayson’s — this kiss deliberate, measured; so different than the first they shared. The frantic, grasping nature of the previous was absent now, giving way to a gentle, unhurried exploration. Tiger shivered when he felt Grayson’s tongue, flickering at his lips, then pressing into his mouth to probe his palate. His breath tingled warm at Tiger’s cupid’s bow. Tiger nipped at Dick’s lower lip, pulling it between his teeth to suck lightly at the pliant sliver of flesh when Grayson laid a palm on his cheek. 

When they broke away, it was on a collective outbreath, both now respiring more quickly. Tangible vibrations pulsed through Tiger’s skin. 

“I guess that clinches it,” Tiger said in a breathless rush. 

“Clinches what?” Dick asked, equally breathless. 

Tiger collected himself before he could say something incomprehensibly stupid. 

“Nothing. Don’t talk,” Tiger replied, and pulled Grayson atop him, mindless of his manifold wounds, now conscious only of his lover — however unexpected that lover might have been. He took in the taste and sensation of his lips, the warmth of his body, the smoothness of his skin, the rich, heady scent of his hair — the aroma afterthoughts of that bougie shampoo of his. After a time, Grayson let his hands wander over Tiger’s chest and abdomen, prickling a wash of gooseflesh over the skin wherever his fingers touched. He stopped when he reached his navel. 

“Am I hurting you, riding you jockey-style like this?” Dick asked. 

Tiger shook his head. “But I wouldn’t call this jockey-style, anyway — not just yet.” 

“Do you _want_ it to get to that point?” Dick asked. 

Tiger just kissed him in reply, by now getting a little handsy himself, running his palms down the planes of Dick’s back to cup his perfect ass. Grayson smiled against Tiger’s mouth, tracing his fingers down over Tiger’s abdominals, then closing the remaining distance to squeeze at the growing bulge of his erection. Tiger sighed, leaning back when Dick moved his lips to Tiger’s jaw, his throat, his collarbones. His tongue flitted over one nipple, igniting a volt of electricity that spiraled through Tiger’s spine. Nimble fingers undid the drawstring of the borrowed track pants, then Grayson looked up at Tiger. 

“You sure you’re up for this?” he asked. “I mean, we can always Netflix and _actually_ chill.” 

Tiger huffed, then reached down to pull the fetters of the pants away. He freed his cock, drawing it loose from the elastic that confined him, releasing himself to take Grayson’s hand and guide it to his hardness. 

“What do you think?” he asked, his heart accelerating at the feeling of Grayson’s palm, warm against his arousal. 

Dick laughed, and shook his head. “That even though you’re pious, you _are_ still a guy — meaning you’ll make it work.” 

“I am as God made me,” Tiger quipped. 

Grayson lowered his grin to nurse the skin at Tiger’s lower belly, his grip tightening around Tiger’s shaft, his mouth shifting to pinch the flesh just beneath his navel with his teeth. Grayson rose, then, Tiger’s erection grasped in his fingers, and pressed his lips to the head, tonguing its weeping crest. Tiger’s breath caught, sparklers glittering across his nerve endings, a confetti pop of heat blossoming in his core. He breathed out with a low, alleviated moan, lifting his hips, pressing his cock deeper into the heat of Grayson’s mouth. The fan of his partner’s tongue swept up his length, roving about the sensitive underside, robbing Tiger of his breath as his head fell back. When he hit Dick’s throat, it was all he could do not to bellow loudly enough to alert all the dearly departed the world over. 

Dick clasped Tiger’s hips, drawing him in deeper, flexing his gullet around his heft, humming now and again. Tiger rocked with Grayson’s motions, inhaling, exhaling, spots scattering across his vision as he focused muzzily on the ceiling. It wasn’t long before he felt his guts clinch up, portending his earthshaking end. 

“Grayson —” he warned, then lost his name on a cry as he came so hard his ears popped and deafened, his cock pulsing and jerking in his partner’s mouth, pouring in sporadic bursts down Grayson’s throat. 

He shuddered, sagging back on the couch, his hands sliding from Grayson’s hair. His muscles jerked to feel the tugging sensation on his lapsing manhood as Dick swallowed — the action languid, purposeful. 

Grayson lifted up, kneeling on the couch, straddling Tiger’s thighs. 

“So…” he murmured, lowering the waistline of the stealth leggings, quirking his lip, “ _who’s_ always nice?” 

Tiger didn’t respond, arrested when Grayson’s cock sprang into his own grip. Dick’s respiration grew erratic as he pumped his wrist, stroking his length, not moving his eyes from Tiger’s. He canted forward after a moment or two to push his lips to his partner’s. Tiger shivered to find he could taste his own cum — something wholly new, curious. At once, it stoked the profound desire to really _taste_ his lover. 

He laid his hands on Dick’s sides, guiding him to shift up over his body, then feathered his lips over his neck and clavicles. He swept his tongue in a series of licks down his torso, tracing the linea all the way to the coarse hair below his umbilical. Grayson’s erection still strained in his own hold, the angles of his fingers and arch of his manhood bathed in the amber glow of the low lamplight. Tiger kissed the head of his lover’s cock, then felt Dick’s free hand curl in his hair. 

“Wait — Tig — you don’t have to —” Grayson said, his voice unsteady. 

“Shut up, Grayson.” 

Tiger pulled Dick’s fingers from his arousal, and, taking one breath in, stifling his initial consternation, he passed his mouth over the length of Grayson’s cock, closing his lips around its rock-hard tensity. The moan Dick loosed into the close, humming air of the apartment gratified Tiger, lending him reassurance as he acclimated to the foreign sensation of a man’s sex — long, thick, unyielding — filling his mouth. 

It strained Tiger’s jaw in ways he didn’t anticipate, and when he sensed Grayson’s weight as it first pressed at his gullet, it threatened to spoil the whole thing, nudging his esophagus into a ripple and blooming a flash of pressure in his aching face. 

“Sorry — sorry —” Dick gasped, “didn’t mean to — push that far —” 

Tiger repositioned himself, shifting until he was comfortable enough. Leaving behind his lack of expertise and remaining mindful of his sore nose by dictating Dick’s motions with a hard grip on his hips, he tuned into the sound of his partner’s voice, using it as a guide. Employing his tongue elicited a positive response, as did hollowing his cheeks to hone pressure. Moving one palm to squeeze Grayson’s sack sparked a full-on cry. Having some bearings now, Tiger experimented — now taking pleasure in stroking the skin of his cock, petal soft, like suede, with his tongue, tasting the sharp, salty tang of pre-cum, mapping the ridges of the head with his lips. He relished the sensation of Grayson’s fingers in his hair, pressing into his scalp, retracting in clear efforts to avoid causing him further pain. 

When Dick came, he did so shouting, the bursts of luke, stringing liquid pulsing at Tiger’s ulula. He swallowed, pulling at the receding, spasming flesh with his lips. Dick sagged aside, his softening cock slipping from Tiger’s mouth. 

They lay side by side on Grayson’s couch a moment, breathing and recovering in the quiet. Dick moved to rest, front to front, against Tiger’s chest. Tiger laid an arm across him, tucking the crown of Dick’s head beneath his chin. 

After a time, Tiger drew back, and rested a hand on Dick’s cheek. 

“ _I,”_ he announced, dropping a kiss on his lips, “am always nice.” 

Grayson laughed, his blue eyes glowing and face endearingly flushed in the soft, yellow light. “Yes. Yes, you are.” 

They lay purled together for a time indeterminate, resting on Dick’s sofa, listening unspeaking to the sounds of the city outside. Although thoughts of the immediate future clamored at the outskirts of Tiger’s thoughts, he shuttered the blinds, battening the hatches down against them for now. He didn’t want to worry about eerie, heat-emitting statues, secret society intrigues, or golems. He didn’t want to consider the multiplying risks of where he now found himself, how much more he suddenly stood to lose, or all the convoluted webs and tangles of what this implied about his identity and understanding of himself. Not when this felt so _good_. 

He took in the scent of Grayson’s hair, soft against his cheek, and kissed his forehead. Grayson smiled at him, then sat up. 

“You ready to call it a night, poor, banged-up lover o’ mine?” he asked. 

“Lover,” Tiger said with a huff. “Is _that_ what you’d call me?” 

Dick shrugged. “That term _is_ a little fly-by-night for my tastes, but I’m not about to get pushy regarding titles.” 

“Titles,” Tiger said, shaking his head. “You _were_ born cringey, you idiot.” 

Dick grinned. "Interim roommates, then. At least until you've convalesced a bit." 

He helped Tiger from the couch and to the bed at the far end of the studio, supporting his weight as they ascended the small step onto the elevated landing. 

“So,” Grayson said once they’d settled beneath the sheets, his head pillowed on the unmarred side of Tiger’s chest, “was that your first time blowing a guy?” 

“Did it really show that much?” Tiger asked with a chuckle. 

Grayson shook his head. “I was just wondering. Because if it was… now I _really_ owe you the story about why I carry personal lubricant in my utility belt.” 

Tiger groaned. 


End file.
